


miscellany, vol. 1

by aresentfulcaretaker



Category: Clash of the Titans (2010), Hannibal (TV), The Big C (TV)
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11413056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aresentfulcaretaker/pseuds/aresentfulcaretaker
Summary: ficlets





	1. white cotton

Will wears white cotton out in the field. It makes him easy for the eye to follow. Then the sun peaks at high noon and he sheds his shirt and wanders into the high grass. It hides him. Hannibal manages to catch a glimpse of his dark hair bobbing through the blades but soon he disappears altogether. Hannibal's book doesn't hold his interest after that. He sets it aside and steps out of his sandals, setting off across the yard.

There's a distinct change in the earth between their groomed property and the wildness beyond it (which Will prefers). The dirt is softer, the green uneven with weeds. Coming up on the hill at the field's edge, Hannibal notices the light dusting of sand carried over from the beach on the other side. He reaches the tall grass and can hear the waves off to his left.

Will is lying near the center, the grass fanned out around him like pillow. Forearm bent across his eyes against the sun, Hannibal can't see his shadowed eyes. But Will must know he's there, as he pats the space beside him in invitation. Hannibal lies down on his side. He'd much rather look at his lover than the sky; he'd rather admire him and remember him as he is here, now. Will doesn't smile but he looks content. Tired, too, but in the best of ways. Worn out by the bliss and the heat, made joyful and sweaty and and sleepy.

"Are you hungry," Hannibal asks.

"A little." Will peeks at him out of the corner of a squinted eye. "Do we have anything light?"

They walk back together. Will drags his feet, tugging at Hannibal's arm every now and then to slow him. They find a pace to suit them both and Will tugs instead at Hannibal's wrist until he turns his palm and allows their fingers to lace together.

Tossing his shirt onto one of the chairs, Will picks up Hannibal's book. He opens to the mark and leads the way into the kitchen. Hannibal heads for the fridge while he hops up on the counter.

"What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis." Will exhales out his mouth and skips down. "With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough."

"A favorite passage of mine." Hannibal washes fresh strawberries for cutting.

"It's romantic. Were you planning on romancing me?"

"Do I need to?"

Will snorts and flips through the rest of the pages. Once the strawberries are cut he slips from his seat and joins Hannibal at the center table. Honey is drizzled over the bowl. Like a glaze, it saturates the ripe reds and fleshy whites of the fruit. It makes Hannibal's fingers sticky when he feeds Will a bite. "Should we eat outside?" He asks, fetching a bowl of cream from the fridge.

"Why not in bed? I was going to have a nap anyway."

"Take these upstairs then," Hannibal hands him the bowls. "I'll follow."

He fixes two glasses of cold lemonade. They drip with condensation by the time he makes it to the bedroom. All the windows are open, allowing in a breeze to flutter the curtains. Will has cast the covers down to the foot of the bed and sits now at the center of it, glutting himself on strawberries.

"I thought you weren't that hungry."

"My stomach was bigger than my eyes." He frowns. "That phrase only works the one way."

"Do you want something else?"

"No, no. Come sit with me, come on."

Hannibal sets their drinks within reach on the edge of the dresser. He's welcomed with open arms. Will feeds him this time and traces his cream-smeared fingers over his lips before leaning in for a kiss. Each bite becomes a break for breath in between. And when the food is gone the dishes are moved to the floor so that the two may sprawl out, this time both on their sides, facing one another. This time both smiling.

They doze for the rest of the day, waking only long enough for more affection. Hannibal dreams they die; thrown, uncovered, together. Their bodies turn to bones, to phosphate of calcium. Somehow it truly is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [quote](http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/550531-what-reconciles-me-to-my-own-death-more-than-anything)


	2. subway strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on [x](http://meduszoa.tumblr.com/post/160475128683/stability-this-is-actually-so-cute-strangers), written for [@meduszoa](http://meduszoa.tumblr.com/)

The trees are green and full, eclipsing the cobblestone pathway that trails through the park. Whispers of sunlight sneak through the leaves, casting a lacy pattern across the faces of passersby. Draco watches the shadows shifting in the breeze as he strums his guitar. The sound of coins dropping into the case at his feet refocuses his attention. A young woman, already moving along, waves over her shoulder. He nods in thanks.  
  
The case fills nicely by the afternoon. People toss him their loose change, count out their singles and slip them into the lining. One old man waves a fifty in front of him and requests he sing old folk. Draco's not much of a vocalist but the man doesn't seem to mind.  
  
The clock at the park's center chimes two and he decides he's hungry. There's enough in his case for take out. The place he has in mind is across town. Gathering up the money and packing away his guitar, he heads for the subway.  
  
Though it's mostly full, Draco manages to get himself a seat. He watches people fill in, sighing with disappointment when someone takes the spot beside him.  
  
The train leaves ten minutes behind schedule. Most of the riders are either glaring at their watches or making calls. The man next to him seems content, texting and humming softly to himself.  
  
They hit a turn and everyone bends against the momentary shift in gravity. Draco's guitar case tries to slide away from him. A bottle of wine rolls out from beneath the seat.  
  
"What do we have here?" The man bends to pick it up. He pinches it by the neck and pulls a napkin from his blazer's pocket. Once it's wiped clean, he turns over and reads the label. "Not bad."  
  
He's got a bag balanced on his Oxfords. From it he produces a corkscrew and a plastic cup. This is what a high functioning alcoholic looks like, Draco thinks.  
  
Popping the cork, he makes to pour himself some when he realizes he's got two cups stuck together. Wedging the wine bottle between his thighs, he separates them and offers one to Draco. He blinks at it and, seeing no reason to refuse something free, takes it. The man smiles and pours them each half a glass.  
  
Before Draco can put his to his lips, the man catches his wrist. He scents his own cup, swirls it and takes a sip. Only when he's let it sit on his tongue does he swallow. Sighing in contentment, the man looks to Draco to follow his example.  
  
Instead, Draco tosses back it in one gulp. The stranger's expression goes blank then morphs into a wide grin. Draco smiles too.  
  
For their next round, the man holds up his cup and introduces himself. "Lee Fallon."  
  
"Draco." He taps and they drink.  
  
"Just Draco? Like Adele? Or Aristotle. Drake. Bono... Eminem." There's a slight slur to his words.

"You sound like you're already tipsy."  
  
"I am, a bit. I just came from a tasting. The company was nowhere near as enjoyable. I supplemented with a bottle of," he tries to remember but can't, "something."  
  
"All tastes the same, doesn't it?"  
  
"That's because you're drinking it wrong." Lee fills his cup once more. "Come on, scent it. Breathe it in."  
  
He does as he's told this time, allowing Lee to take him through the steps.  
  
"Well?" Lee's eyes are on his Adam's apple as he swallows.  
  
"Not bad," Draco echoes.  
  
They keep talking, getting acquainted as they drain the bottle. Draco misses his stop on purpose. As they near the end of the line, Lee admits he did, too.  
  
"I don't mind the walk." Lee says once they're standing on the platform. "I wasn't ready to go home anyway."  
  
"I'm going to get something to eat. Do you like Greek?"  
  
"I do actually."

They head off together just as the train pulls away.


	3. lilac bushes, chlorine water, coconut oil

Lee is already in the pool when he arrives. Draco can hear the splashing as he walks back around the house. He pauses at the corner, taking in the view of the yard. Neatly kept, the fences are lined with plush green bushes. In each corner, there are also lilac bushes in full bloom. Their blossoms perfume the air.

“You came,” Lee says. He’s paused at the edge, a hand on the cement for grounding. “I thought you might not show.”

“I was looking for a swim suit. Turns out I don’t have one.” Draco holds up the small bag he’s packed. “I thought I’d sunbathe instead.”

“You can wear whatever, doesn’t have to be a swimsuit.” Lee pushes off the wall. “Doesn’t have to be anything at all.”

Draco watches him swim away and walks over to one of the long lawn chairs lined up beside the pool. The wind picks up, renewing the scent of the lilacs. It is strong enough this time to shake loose petals from the bushes and send them fluttering through the air.

He undresses, stopping when he gets down to his boxer briefs. He doesn’t usually wear underwear but he’d found some for this occasion. The pair is too nice to sacrifice to the chlorine of the pool. It would warp the burgundy color of the fabric. Washing tanning oil out would be much easier.

Lee seemed serious, though, and Draco would prefer to take them off. To swim and to tan naked. His hands hesitate and then slip the underwear off.

The pool is five feet deep. Draco slides in and hooks his arms over the edge, letting his soles tease the bottom. The water laps at his chest and shoulders. A small wave hits him as Lee joins him.

“You can stay as late as you’d like,” he says. “The days are so long now, there’s plenty of time for sunbathing.”

“Thank you again. For inviting me.”

“About time we get to know each other.”

They’ve been neighbors nearly a year now and have only exchanged a handful of hellos. This past weekend, they’d run into each other during their morning runs and Lee had suggested a day by the pool. Despite their houses being nearly identical, Draco doesn’t have one of his own.

They don’t take the conversation any further. Lee goes back to swimming laps. Draco gives him plenty of space, drifting without direction. When their fingers and toes begin to prune, Lee suggests they stop for lunch. Together they towel off and head inside.

 

_

  


Draco drips and shines with tanning oil. He lies there on his back, eyes closed against the glaring sun. His hair is tied up in a bun, still damp from the pool.

“Mind if I read?” Lee asks. He’s got a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

“Not getting back in?”

“Maybe later.”

Companionable silence falls. Lee covers himself in another coat of sunscreen and begins to read. The book falls to his chest after a few quiet hours; he falls asleep. Draco watches through squinted eyes and, after a few minutes, follows his example.

  


_

  


They take turns rinsing off the sweat and slather of the day. Lee goes first and is once again reading his book when Draco emerges from the bathroom.

“Do you have any coconut oil?” He asks.

“Chlorine dry out your skin?”

“And my hair.”

Lee find his jar of coconut oil. Instead of giving it to Draco, he walks past him into the bathroom. “Sit down.”

Draco sits down on the closed toilet and Lee moves to stand behind him. Starting with the ends, he works the coconut oil into Draco’s hair. His fingers are gentle and nimble, careful to work out the knots.

“How long are your runs in the morning?” Lee asks.

“Forty five minutes, give or take.”

“Mine, too. Which roads do you take?”

“Washington, then a right onto Third. Down to the lake and back again.”

“Do you want to let it sit or should we wash it out?”

“Let it sit a moment.”

Lee’s fingers trace little patterns in the oil smeared across Draco’s bare back. “Would you want to run together?”

Draco turns. “You wouldn’t mind the company?”

“Some mornings maybe. But today went well, I think. It’d be nice to have a friend that lives near by.”

Draco allows himself to be leaned back, his head beneath the sink’s faucet. Lee rinses the oil out, rings it out and braids it. Draco thanks him, dresses, and says he should go.

“I don’t usually run on Saturdays.” Draco says, standing on the porch.

“Sunday then? Eight am?”

“I’ll be here.”

They say their goodbyes. Draco finds himself smiling on the walk home.


End file.
